


What there is, is enough

by Lady_P



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Attorney Hong Jisoo, Bad Clue, Business Heir Mingyu, Butler Wen Junhui, Doctor Jeon Wonwoo, GoSe inspired, It's more of a dramatic and introspective Wonwoo piece, Jeonghan, M/M, Other, Things that are not medically or legally accurate, You've been warned, angsty, bSK President Seokmin, going seventeen, mentions of death and murder, mentions of trauma, pinning, side characters, slight meanie, very slight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:54:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26834023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_P/pseuds/Lady_P
Summary: Wonwoo doesn’t necessarily remember a moment, cannot pinpoint a particular event that made him realize his feelings towards the youngest of his sponsors and patients of nearly twelve years, had stopped being professional and borderline fraternal, what with their difference in age, and became much more intense.And inappropriate.Highlight inappropriate and write it in big, bold letters, because there is no other way Jeon Wonwoo can keep living with himself.An explorative, kind of angsty, Wonwoo-centric one-shot based off Bad Clue because Meanie fits any setting.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Kim Mingyu
Comments: 2
Kudos: 63





	What there is, is enough

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> This is my first work here on the archive, so let's see how it turns out! 
> 
> I was soooo inspired by the Bad Clue Going Seventeen episode. I just think it's so well thought out and has so much fanfic potential it's insane. Couldn't really find time throughout my week to properly sit down and write, so I'm uploading just now, quite possibly just hours before the second – and presumably final – part of Bad Clue drops. 
> 
> As such, since this is obviously written before I know what happens, who is the killer, and any other surprises the GoSe team might have in store for us, this one-shot is based off what we are told on the first part of Bad Clue only, so any backstory details I came up with are probably not accurate (but that's the beauty of fan fiction :P ). I actually left it open at the end, just so it can sort of tie into the beginning of Bad Clue. 
> 
> Anyways, enough of that. If you are reading because you love fanfiction, love Seventeen, love Meanie, GoSe, Bad Clue or all of them, thank you so much! Let me know your thoughts.
> 
> (As said in the tags, there is not much actual Meanie taking place, and there are sensitive/triggering themes, so read at your discretion, and enjoy a pinning, conflicted Wonwoo y'all).

“This way, Doctor.”

Wonwoo finishes removing his shoes – he forgot these were the ones with the pesky laces,  _ again _ – and places his coat on the elderly man’s outstretched arms. 

“Thank you, Mr. Wen,” he smiles, knowing by now that, although he officially has Korean papers and registers, the Chinese man appreciates the effort in being called by his given name. 

He is rewarded with a wide grin in return, in that genuine and open manner that never stops flooding one with warmth. 

Wonwoo follows the elderly butler across the hallways, mostly out of sheer habit and, why not, politeness. No matter how much the Park family house is embedded in Wonwoo's memory from years of visits, to the point where he could likely recite a detailed layout of the three-storied mansion, Mr. Wen's job is to escort him, as a guest, directly to the place he is expected at. This time, it is one of the many studies on the first level, which Seokmin jokingly calls ‘Wonwoo’s room’ by now, the place where he usually conducts his medical visits and frequent check-ups on the members of the Park family. 

“Doctor Jeon,” he hears, once Mr. Wen has left him to set up his gear and wait for the day’s patient to come downstairs, and turns around to find the object of his most conflicting thoughts, his most repelled desires and the reason why he has been both avoiding actual visits to the house as much as possible and on the verge of altogether leaving the path of private family practitioner multiple times in the last couple years. 

Park Mingyu.

\---------------------------

  
  


Wonwoo doesn’t necessarily remember a moment, cannot pinpoint a particular event that made him realize his feelings towards the youngest of his sponsors and patients of nearly twelve years, had stopped being professional and borderline fraternal, what with their difference in age, and became much more intense. 

And inappropriate. 

Highlight inappropriate and write it in big, bold letters, because there is no other way Jeon Wonwoo can keep living with himself.

“Good afternoon, Mingyu,” he smiles politely, pleasantly, the way the younger should expect his long-time-doctor-slash-family-friend to smile at him. “I didn’t think you would be here today.” He almost phrases it like a question – it had been more of a hope he was harboring as he rang the doorbell earlier – one of his brows arching over the frames of his glasses.

The younger man arches one of his perfect brows in return, boyishly smiling back at him. “And why, pray tell Doctor, wouldn’t I be at my house on a Tuesday?”

If Wonwoo can feel his heartbeat increasing in pace at the sight of those perfect canines, it is entirely due to his lack of sleep and recent jet lag.  _ Inappropriate  _ his mind helpfully supplies. 

Emphasizing that fatigue, he exhales heavily as he takes a seat on the worn leather couch, the very same couch where he used to sit a small Mingyu at for his monthly check-ups and reward him with sweets for being a good patient. “I thought I heard you moved out on these days,” he says instead, willing away the tender memory. 

“Almost,” replies Mingyu, leaning on the door frame – and what a mistake Wonwoo made sitting down, because from this point he has a clearer view of the way the casual jacket hugs the younger’s broad shoulders and the faded blue jeans make his long legs look even longer, “they need another day to finish cleaning and preparing the new place. Besides, I’m just making the same arrangement as uncle Seokmin. You know my grandfather.”

Wonwoo knows. Knows all too well – certainly a lot more than he wishes, and a lot more than he can escape from. 

Park Taesan, Chairman and founder of successful conglomerate bSK, if a moderately well-perceived public figure because of his contributions to society and charitable organizations, was a rather difficult and…’overbearing’ individual, particularly when it came to his family. Which was why his children, despite living in their own places at some point, still stayed regularly at the Park mansion. So Mingyu now, too, would be following on his late father and his uncle’s footsteps and getting his own ‘breathing space,’ as Seokmin put it. 

“I see,” is what he says instead. “Well, I’m glad for you. You will do quite well.”

There is that heart-swelling smile again. “Thank you, Doctor.” Mingyu moves to cross his arms across his chest. Wonwoo absolutely does not look at the way the jacket strains against his muscles. “But I’ll still be here a lot. And I hope you will, too. I haven’t seen you much lately. How have you been?”

Wonwoo’s “Everything has been fine, thank you. I’ve been very busy, so I haven’t been able to come visit as much,” is probably not as smooth as it could be, but he hopes it would be enough.

The snort the younger man lets out is light, almost delicate, so unlike anything Wonwoo has heard from Mingyu before, and it is so  _ cute _ . “I could tell. I’m hurt, Doctor, you’ve neglected me too much.”

Okay. What.

Wonwoo mentally backtracks, and wets his lips in shock. Mingyu saying those things does not help him. It does not help him feel less like crap  _ at all. _

While it is true that his current medical integrity – or its lack thereof – would embarrass his younger and more naïve, more righteous self, Wonwoo likes to think he isn’t a complete asshole. He still has (some) principles. If anything, he isn’t a child molester, although it could be argued that Mingyu was no longer a child – _ focus _ , Jeon.

It hits him differently every time. The fact that the little boy he used to gently coax into getting his shots and bribed with bubble tea to convince him eating vegetables would actually improve his looks (he is prepared to plead that case at a congress because boy, is Mingyu a gorgeous human being), has become the tall and lean man on whose young, and quite troubled shoulders rests the future of the Park Family’s conglomerate.

Speaking of which…

“You’ve been getting enough sleep lately?” he shoots the all-too common question at the younger. Even after the silence that followed Mingyu’s conflicting comment, the younger does not seem fazed at the apparently abrupt change in topic. They’ve always understood each other like that. He merely shrugs his shoulders.

“As much as I’m able to.” The answer is all-too common as well, but it doesn’t make Wonwoo any less concerned every time he hears it. The mere thought of Mingyu laying alone in the middle of the night, wide awake and drowning in the turmoil inside his head has always caused a dull ache in Wonwoo’s chest. But these days, he feels that ache becoming a sharp pain, causing  _ him _ to lay awake at night, fighting the highly  _ inappropriate  _ desires to envelop the young Park heir in his arms and protect him from the ugliness of the world.

He is such a deplorable man.

“Hey, Wonwoo.” The arrival of his patient breaks Wonwoo away from his Mingyu-induced self-deprecation and makes him stand up. “Sorry, I had to take a call and it dragged on for a while, but I see that Gyu here kept you company.” Seokmin affectionately pats his nephew's shoulder, making Wonwoo marvel again from how, at twenty, Mingyu stands taller than the two of them.

Wonwoo re-assures the other that he didn’t wait for long, and that they should be getting started. “If you want me to leave, you can just say so.” Mingyu pouts, and then laughs after receiving a playful slap on the shoulder from his uncle. “I just came down for a break, I’m going to finish packing.”

With a nod in their direction – and Wonwoo would swear a shy smile directed at him but he must be absolutely delirious by now – he disappears down the hall.

\---------------------------

  
  


“Relax Seokmin. Don’t you trust me?” Wonwoo asks as he gently rubs the alcohol swab on his friend’s arm. 

Facing him on the leather couch, he hears Park Seokmin heave a sigh. “Of course, I trust you. But I don’t know if I trust Attorney Hong. Not  _ fully _ at least.”

Wonwoo knows they are sufficiently alone, with Mingyu on the third floor minding his own business – they can hear the boxes being dropped and moved around – and Mr. Wen outside at the back garden, his hums of an old Chinese song carrying through the otherwise empty house. Still, he keeps his voice just above a whisper. “He already gave you the final document, didn’t he?”

Seokmin nods and vaguely gestures up, towards his room, right above this studio. “Just this Saturday. And all the copies I requested.”

“And he signed and sealed it, correct?”

His friend nods again.

“Then there’s nothing to worry about. He is in as deep as we are now. He will do his part.”

“But what if he  _ doesn’t _ ?” Seokmin refutes. “How can I be sure he won’t just claim it was coercion and oust me – oust  _ us  _ to the prosecution.” 

“That would be like admitting his incompetence out loud, letting  _ you _ of all people fake his signature.” He chuckles, and it manages to get a small smile from Seokmin. It’s enough for Wonwoo. “We’ll pull it out.” He declares, with a lot more confidence than he feels, that he should even feel in this type of situation. But it seems to do the trick. His friend relaxes again, and Wonwoo brings the already prepared needle to his arm. 

“And how are things with you…”

“Walking at their own pace,” he doesn’t look up from the needle, inserting it past the skin and pressing with his thumb, watching as the clear liquid slowly disappears into his friend’s system, to take effect inside his body. Just like the Chairman’s body is responding to the slight change in his meds; to the switch of his evening snacks that taste the exact same – Wonwoo made sure of that – and to the doses that are a little bit higher every time, taking a bit longer to go through the needle than usual, but just enough for it to be noticed only by Wonwoo himself. Walking slowly, but surely.

Seokmin hums to show he understands, and nothing more is said as Wonwoo removes the needle, patting the spot with a clean swab and disposing of the materials on the nearby bin. 

It is only until Wonwoo has written and handed over Seokmin’s new prescription, changing his sleeping pills to the stronger ones he had given Mingyu last time – the thought of him stabs at Wonwoo’s chest. _ Inappropriate _ – that his friend speaks again, rolling down his sleeve. “How is Miss Yoon?" 

Wonwoo tries not to show how his grip on the pen tightens.

"I haven't been to her ward in about two weeks. Yesterday I flew back from Busan." At his friend's raised eyebrow he elaborates, "Miss Lee was feeling sick. The Chairman insisted on the check-ups. The usual." Seokmin openly snorts at that, and Wonwoo wants to make a similar, maybe even louder sound. 

Outwardly, Chairman Park may seem overly-eager to dote on his mistresses, sometimes to ridiculous extents, like bringing the family doctor all the way across the country when they feel nauseous. 

Only Wonwoo knows that all the fuss is much less 'gallant' and much more pragmatic – also much more discreet: making sure the usually young women aren't pregnant (unlikely at his age, but Wonwoo leaves him be). To avoid, no doubt a repetition of...

He clears his throat. "But her nurses haven't reported anything out of the ordinary, which means she is stable. I will check on her tomorrow and let you know." 

Seokmin nods, concentrating. “That is good. Jeonghan should be back by Thursday, at the very latest. He will want to know.”

Wonwoo hums in agreement, already turning around to close his small bag, even as he feels a constriction in his throat. 

Yoon Jeongbin has been cold in the hospital's morgue for two days already, her son conveniently away on an impromptu business trip to the other side of the world. As much as Wonwoo wants to offer consolation to the younger man, to at least let him know so he is able to grieve in peace, to fulfill his medical duty so  _ Wonwoo _ can feel at peace, he can’t, as usual. He was explicitly ordered not to, as usual. 

One would think he’d truly be used to it by now, having to commit many more affronts to a doctor’s pledge of service throughout the years than he can count. But he isn’t, he probably never will. He gets better at lying and concealing, perfects his cool, medical persona, his senses much more sharpened and alert than intern Jeon’s could ever dream of being – but the guilt and remorse hit the exact same way every time. 

But this is it, he reminds himself. He has learned well. He has been taught well. And now, he only needs to keep it up a little longer and he can stop, he can be free. Perhaps make it up a little to all the people he’s had to hurt or seen hurt along the way, by returning a small measure of what they received. Return the measure for one of his best friends, who he has seen grow from a timid second son into a self-assured President, for Park Jeonghan whom he’s had to and will continue to keep in the dark about so many things, for Yoon Jeongbin who will be expecting him in hell before she leaves for the better life she deserves. 

And maybe, not like he is afraid to admit it, just extremely ashamed, but maybe, a certain boyish smile appears in his mind every now and then and gives him courage to continue. Yes. If he can also do some justice for him, for the torment Wonwoo has seen him go through, his peace of mind is nothing to give up. What’s another remorse piled upon so many. 

“Uncle!” They both turn at the sound of Mingyu’s voice, his loud footsteps resounding from the staircase. “Uncle?” his voice asks right outside the door, and he knocks softly. Seokmin chuckles.

“Yah, Gyu. Stop interrupting your uncle’s healthcare. Don’t you see I could die here?” He says, tone full of mirth and fondness for his nephew. The door creaks open.

“I’m sorry, okay? I thought you two were finished.” The younger pushes only his head inside and grins at Wonwoo, who masks his sharp intake of breath with a cough. “I actually have something for Doctor Jeon. I was going to give it to you, uncle, but I might as well.” He steps inside and reveals what looks like a small notebook in his hand.

“Oh?” Seokmin teases, smiling at his nephew. Mingyu pouts at his uncle and then grins again in Wonwoo’s direction, as he sits on one of the armchairs facing the leather couch and offers him the notebook with both hands. 

Slightly dazed by that brilliant, beautiful smile that haunts his dreams, Wonwoo almost doesn’t recognize the object he is being offered. He does though. “Are you sure?” he questions the younger.

Mingyu nodds resolutely. 

“Very,” he begins, “I found it just now, going through my stuff. I thought I had lost this one, and I remember you said you would like to check them out some time. So I want you to have it.”

Wonwoo accepts the notebook, the journal, and delicately drags his fingertips over the blue cover, opening it up to reveal the bold, scribbled title on the first page. When Mingyu was about ten, around the same time Wonwoo had just officially become the family’s exclusive doctor, the older had suggested Mingyu began what he had called a ‘sleep log.’ 

A couple years after Mingyu lost his father, Wonwoo had just become acquainted with Chairman Park, and felt much too inexperienced, especially concerning children, to be of any help, instead providing the contact of an old friend of his who specialized in pediatric psychology, to help his grandson deal with the emotional turmoil. 

As the family doctor later on, however, when a ten-year-old Mingyu used to lay on the studio’s leather couch and complain to Wonwoo about his tiredness almost on the verge of tears, Wonwoo convinced him to try and write his feelings and thoughts whenever his insomnia hit him the worst. It didn’t have to be routinary, he had remarked then, much less orderly or task-like. Just a recommended practice to help him unwind and decompress during the most difficult times and calm his mind a little, maybe help him tire enough to have at least some sleep. 

As he grew older, and his insomnia seemed to be growing alongside him, Wonwoo had eventually resorted to medication, but Mingyu confided in him how he had kept up the log throughout the years, and how even though only his strongest pills got him to actually sleep, the pages of his journals had him feeling calmer and not so restless about his condition. 

“Anything I’m missing out on?” Seokmin asks next to Wonwoo, already reaching a hand out and leaning in to have a look. Wonwoo is about to swat his friend’s hand away, but he is spared the awkwardness it would have caused when Mingyu reaches out instead and slams the cover shut. 

“Sorry uncle, but uh, I would like that only Doctor Jeon reads it,” he doesn’t look at them, instead fixing his gaze on the cover of the journal.

Seokmin pouts, like the overgrown child he is. Wonwoo almost flicks him on the forehead.

“Huh? But didn’t you say you wanted to give it to me?”

“So you could give it to Doctor Jeon later, if he had already left,” Mingyu whines. He  _ whines.  _ He is leaning back on his chair and scratching his neck, and he  _ whines _ . Wonwoo will die, “and ask you to please  _ please _ not read it.” Wonwoo sees him glance at Seokmin, and then look away again. “Uh, please? Patient confidentiality and all that.” 

Wonwoo feels Seokmin’s inquisitive gaze on him and turns to look at the man.

“Patient confidentiality.” He confirms with a nod and what he hopes is his usual, impassive face. For half a second he is not sure if Seokmin is buying it – not like there’s anything to buy as far as Wonwoo is concerned, but he somehow feels like being assessed by his friend’s ‘business look’ – when the other slips back into his playful, private persona and mumbles, “Fine. Keep your secrets, you two.”

  
  


\---------------------------

  
  


Later that night, in the peace of his home, Wonwoo snuggles into his armchair with Mingyu’s ‘sleep log’ journal on his lap. 

After thinking long and hard, and in the meantime finally clearing out his hastily-packed suitcase from two days ago, tidying his kitchen a little and taking a much needed hot shower, he has decided that he definitely  _ is _ curious about Mingyu’s journal beyond professional purposes – he is only slightly less ashamed to admit it in the privacy of his living room – and that he should quench that thirst for more things Mingyu right now and get it over with.

So he places his mug of hot tea on the side table and opens the journal. Going by the scribbled dates on the top corners of some pages, this is obviously not the first notebook Mingyu filled as a child, but rather a fairly recent one, the first entry dated just a little over eight months ago. If Mingyu is now using a different journal, and he mentioned he thought he lost this one, how much  _ is  _ he letting out? 

Not all the entries are quite that. Some are just sparse phrases and ramblings, descriptions of places and even some short stories with Mingyu as the narrator. Others are regular sets of paragraphs talking about his day and his feelings, with an eloquence and profundity that surprises but not entirely shocks the older. He has always known Mingyu is a smart and hard-working kid, who just needs a lot of help emotionally. 

There are even some drawings here and there. Some are just doodles. Some pages are taken up by complete landscapes, colored or just in pencil, with amazing detail that does shock Wonwoo. He never knew Mingyu was so talented at drawing. The ones that shock him the most are the drawings of people, from random groups walking the streets to full-on portraits.

He recognizes a lot of people he knows. Chairman Park, Seokmin, Mr. Wen. There’s plenty of pages with two people who look like a married couple, and also individual portraits of each, so Wonwoo can only assume he is looking at Mingyu’s parents, as he remembers them. Sometimes the drawings are accompanied by notes and what seems to be song lyrics, or just titles and Mingyu’s signature at the bottom. 

The journal is beautiful and heart-wrenching at the same time. Truly a look into the younger man’s troubled and scared mind, his fears and regrets, but also a representation of his beautiful feelings.

It is a while into it however, almost towards the end, that Wonwoo’s brows begin to furrow, and he adjusts his glasses over the bridge of his nose to make sure he is not seeing things that aren’t there.

There is a page full of rough sketches, likely drafts before a final drawing. But two things catch his attention. One, none of the sketches show the man upfront, just side profiles and even a couple with the head bent low over something. Two, the man in the drawings makes Wonwoo feel a little like looking at a picture of himself.

The sketches continue for a while, changing poses and angles as they go. The man is shown standing with his hands on his pockets, half turned with one arm in the air as if waving, sitting down cross-legged on a familiar leather couch. Then he turns one page and his breath gets caught in his throat, as his face stares right back at him. 

Every single detail of his face, from his mused fringe just in the middle of his forehead, to the mole above his lip, the state of his recently unkempt eyebrows and the slightly crooked frame of his latest pair of glasses – which Wonwoo himself had accidentally stepped on just a week after getting them. 

But there is more. 

On the page following his portrait, which he needs a good minute to look away from, he spots his name at least three times among the paragraphs. Lines and words blur and mold together throughout the next dozen pages, to the point Wonwoo can’t make them out individually anymore, but his mind registers the detailed descriptions of his face, the mentions of his ‘deep and calming voice’ and ‘captivating eyes’, the recounting of several visits on the first-floor studio, conversations he is quite sure never happened but that leave him feeling warm, poem-like verses and letters that have his heart falling directly into his stomach with each turn of the page. 

At the end of it all there are two post-it notes pasted on the back-cover. The plain yellow slips, so out of place with the dreamy tone of the journal, snap Wonwoo slightly back into reality, only to pluck him right out again and send him both soaring and sinking.

_ Doctor Jeon, _

_ If you have read all of it, you don’t have to let me know. We don’t need to have a mature conversation and sort out the many reasons why it’s wrong. I’m sorry. I just, really wanted to show you.  _

And on the one right below

_ I meant it when I said I feel neglected. So please don’t avoid me because of this. What there is now is more than enough. _

Wonwoo hears the notebook drop onto his carpet with a soft thud.

  
  


\---------------------------

Once he has locked his car, he adjusts the collar of his suit jacket and begins to walk towards the house, dread filling each step. 

It has been a little over a month since his last visit to the Park mansion for Seokmin’s seasonal shot. He’s met his friend at his bSK office or directly at his place a couple times, for follow-up on the effects of the new sleeping pills and to read Attorney Hong’s texts. Everything is in place. They are just waiting for Wonwoo’s measures to catch up to his patient, and looking to secure the remaining copy of the real will. According to Seokmin, it must be within the house, so he’s been searching in his father’s absence.

Yoon Jeongbin still has not been buried, her body preserved as fresh as medically possible, just waiting for the moment when Jeonghan’s visit can’t be delayed any longer to break the news.

But those things don’t worry him – not as much as they  _ should _ , perhaps. 

It is Mingyu. 

Mingyu who, he has heard from Seokmin, has relapsed into quite the crisis and has not been able to get more than a few nights of sleep in the last month, even with the assortment of his strongest pills. 

Mingyu who still plagues Wonwoo’s thoughts and dreams as strongly as he ever had, maybe even more since that night in his armchair, after which Wonwoo had lulled himself to sleep reading over the last pages of his journal. 

Mingyu who he hasn’t reached out to in any way or form, even after the younger all but pleaded that he wouldn’t change whatever existed between them. Up until that point, Wonwoo had not even dared to indulge himself and think that there was a ‘something.’ And it turns out Mingyu had been treasuring the abstractness of it as much as he had. 

Mingyu who Wonwoo has not been able to face, perhaps for fear of letting all his carefully contained emotions come spilling forth and create a mess, beginning with the fact that he is still, first of all, a private practitioner breaking professional boundaries, and secondly, a grown man having these intimate feelings towards a quite young, quite recently legal adult. 

He sighs heavily. 

Tonight he has been invited over for a ‘party’ at the mansion. With the invitation coming from the Chairman himself, there was little Wonwoo could do except call in at the hospital, asking a colleague to check on his few patients, and wear his pinstriped suit with his newest shoes – not the annoying laces again, he has finally gotten rid of those. 

And he is here. He has come so far already, he cannot stop. Not in his questionable medical career. Not in his dangerous arrangement with Park Seokmin and Hong Jisoo. Not until everything is sorted out. He only plans to stop in his feelings for the youngest Park and even that cannot happen until he sorts himself out. And he will. 

Steeling himself, he rings the doorbell. 


End file.
